Desert
by labyrinths
Summary: Ever wondered how Beckett came to be? A glimpse of Beckett's past and present as he marries Elizabeth to satisfy an old craving for revenge. Epilogue up.
1. Chapter 1

**_Desert_**

**_by Labyrinths _**

_Author's note: These characters do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them. Edited Dec 21, changed one line from original version._

**Prologue: In the Beginning**

It was difficult to maintain a neutral tone of voice and to look at Weatherby Swann square in the eye, but Cutler managed to go through the words he had rehearsed without stumbling.

"And so sir, I ask for your opinion on this matter."

The older man looked at the younger fellow with the eager eyes. The older man coughed, then carefully stirred his cup of tea.

"Well Mr. Beckett I would say Elizabeth is merely a child."

"My grandmother was thirteen when she was engaged to my grandfather but I am not asking for such formalities. Merely … well, sir, when the times does come that you might deem your daughter is ready to be married, I would like it if you would consider me at the forefront of those suitors."

"Mr. Beckett surely you understand that is still years ahead of us and I would not like to fill your head with false expectations."

"What I am asking …"

"I know what you are asking," muttered Weatherby with a sigh. "You are looking for a good match, trying to ensure your future. But this is a negotiation you will not win."

Cutler's jaw tightened. Familiar anger brewed inside his chest. When he spoke his tone was different than before, more demanding.

"Why not? I am a decent fellow with good prospects. True, I may not be very rich now but I have come a long way in a short time and I will go even further. And you yourself have said you think I am likeable and intelligent. Surely that must count for something."

Weatherby shrugged as he added some more cream to his tea.

"My boy, it is one thing to find a man likeable and other one entirely to let him marry your daughter."

"Oh? How is that?" muttered Cutler, slowly drumming his fingers over the arm of his chair.

"Please, don't be difficult. I do not mean to upset you but your background is … questionable at best."

"My grandfather has only one living daughter and it is entirely possible that in later years he will reconsider and reinstate the fortune that …"

"Your grandfather is a very stubborn man and I doubt he will go back on his word. Either way, I was not thinking of him. I was considering your father."

Cutler did not blink, careful to maintain a blank expression on his face.

"You judge me unfairly if you judge me by my him."

"Mr. Beckett, he is a gambler and a trouble-maker and a highly disreputable fellow. I do not think…"

"You think you can do business with me without a single thought about my relatives but anything else is out of the question. That is it."

Weatherby pointed his spoon at Cutler for a moment and opened his mouth to protest, but instead remained silent, sipping his tea.

Cutler could hear the clock ticking behind them, its steady murmur irritating to his ears.

"I thought we were friends Mr. Swann," Cutler said as he rose from his chair. "Thank you for correcting me on this point."

- # -

_Author's note: Title inspired by Stephen Crane's "In the Desert"_

_In the Desert_  
_  
In the desert  
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,  
Who, squatting upon the ground,  
Held his heart in his hands,  
And ate of it.  
I said, "Is it good, friend?"  
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,  
"But I like it  
Because it is bitter,  
And because it is my heart." _

**--**_Stephen Crane_

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Woman with the West in her eyes**

_Authors note: These characters are borrowed and used for fun only._

The man tossed the loaf of bread towards her and Elizabeth grabbed it, carefully tearing a piece off while keeping her eyes on him.

"I heard you were loudly complaining about your diet."

As far as Elizabeth recalled she had spent a whole hour screaming and ranting demanding to be set free, to see her father and to speak to someone, anyone, in charge. If she had mentioned anything about food she did not recall it. But she took the bread anyway. There was no telling how long he planned to keep her down there.

"That's very sweet of you. If you would release me that would prove you truly are a gentleman," she said with a smile.

"That would prove I am very stupid."

The smile froze and her eyebrows furrowed at once.

"You were once my father's friend," she began, trying another tactic.

"I once played chess with your father," Beckett replied coldly. "And I seem to recall an ill-tempered daughter of his who always got what she wanted. You are not talking your way out of this one Miss Swann."

She crossed her arms in an attempt to ease her frustration and observed the man carefully as she tried to build a strategy. The Beckett she'd met fifteen years ago had been a young man of perhaps nineteen and she had known little of him to understand him in any way. The sparse memories she had were of a serious fellow with his brown hair neatly tied back with a black ribbon, nodding politely as her father spoke. This Beckett seemed sharper and more dangerous.

"My father has many powerful friends in London."  
"London is far from Port Royale and I doubt his friends would be interested in helping a criminal. But do continue trying to build a case for yourself. It is very entertaining to see you twitching."

"I am not twitching."

"As you say. I want a word or two with you. About Jack Sparrow."  
"I don't know anything about Jack Sparrow."  
"Truly?"

She took two steps back and sat down in the centre of the room, holding her chin up high with determination.

"I don't know anything about Jack Sparrow."

"And here I thought you might be able to help me for I am very interested in Sparrow."

"If I speak, what do I gain?"

"My gratitude.

Elizabeth's first impulse was to talk, to tell him anything and everything she could recall about Jack but then she held back, carefully considering her bargaining power. She would not say a single thing without profiting from it. Beckett was asking without offering anything in return.

She could play a better game than that. If Beckett truly needed her assistance he would propose a decent bargain.

Elizabeth turned around, her back towards Beckett, and stared at the wall.

"Perhaps your fiancée might be a bit more cooperative."

- # -


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2: Man with his back to the East**

**By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: I do not own any of the characters. _

"Of course, _you_ wouldn't care."

Jack rolled his eyes as he refilled his friend's glass.

"Not all of us are bitter old men whining about the world Cutler. Who cares if those powdered wigs dislike you? The wigs look itchy anyhow and the men look constipated."

"I care," Beckett muttered emphatically. "I am smarter … no, better, than most of them and yet they can snub me and treat me like I'm some common peasant, groveling at their feet."

"Lord this and that and the other. So what? All you need is a good drink, a good woman and a good laugh to make it better."

It was Beckett's turn to roll his eyes at such useless advice. Then again the only two subjects Sparrow knew about were women and maps. Cutler was not interested in either one that night.

"Look, mate, one day I'll have my own ship and I'll bring great heaps of expensive spices and you can sell them to those lords at an exorbitant price to make up for it."

"You don't make up for it like that Jack," Cutler said, clutching his drink angrily. "You make it up by rising so far and high above them they'll have to get on their knees and beg for your forgiveness one day. You make up for it by turning everything they love to ashes."

"Come on mate," Jack said. "Don't be gloomy."

Jack Sparrow was smiling. Jack Sparrow was also smiling his infectious grin but even though he appeared merry Cutler could see his rant was making his friend worried. Not that he cared. Cutler couldn't stop the venom spilling from his lips any more than he could stop breathing.

"I may be a nobody now but mark my words, I will be Lord Beckett one day. I'll get back what rightfully is mine. And I'll ruin them all."

Jack scratched his head and leaned back slowly.

"You don't need no title. You know what you need? What you need is a nice woman. Take your pick," Jack said spreading his arms, indicating the serving wenches that were walking among the tables.

"A bunch of strumpets. Look at all that rouge"

"They are more fun than those women who want you courting and giving them flowers. I'd pick a strumpet before some irritating high-class lady."

Cutler glanced at one of the women nearby, a pretty blonde who was laughing loudly and shook his head.

"No. When I marry it shall someone rich and refined and very beautiful so that other men will envy me."

"Oh Cutler, I'll never envy a poor married sap. Just saying the word makes me feel dirty. Marriage."

Jack made a comical face, sticking his tongue out as though he had tasted something disgusting. Cutler tried to maintain a serious facade but his lips quivered until he broke up into a chuckle.

Jack laughed in unison, giving him a pat on the back.

When they were finally quiet again Jack raised his glass and threw his head back with theatrical abandon.

"To being young and happy and never having to wear those damn wigs."

"Aye," Cutler said. "To being young and happy."

- # -


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3: Your eyes have their silence**

**By Labyrinths**

_Authors note: These characters do not belong to me. I am only using them for fun. Watch out for the titles of the chapters. They are lines from poems and do have a meaning. :)_

Jack did not come. Elizabeth waited, poised and ready for him to appear one night and whisk her away to freedom. She waited until the very last moment when the band of gold slid upon her finger. She waited but Jack did not come.

There was no rescue party. There was no fairy tale ending. She lay in bed, touching the edge of the sheet, both angry and expectant and terrified.

She alternatively hated William, Jack and Beckett. William because he had died. Heroes do not die but there he had gone dying, a tragic hero with a tragic destiny.

She hated Jack because she had escaped Port Royale intent on finding him, never knowing that was exactly what Beckett wanted. He had blackmailed Elizabeth's father, telling him everyone aboard the Black Pearl would be killed unless Beckett informed his officers the pirates had taken her as a prisoner and this was a rescue mission.

And she hated Beckett because he had played everyone, like pawns in a chessboard game, coming up victorious in the end.

"Sao Feng, the greatest threat in Asian waters is now dead, the Brethren lays in splinters and Davy Jones is gone for good. Plus, of course, I have your father dancing on the palm of my hand and a pretty new bride. What say you about that, Miss Swann?" he had asked her upon their reunion. "Thank you for your assistance."

Elizabeth lay in bed and thought she had been incredibly stupid, thinking she was so smart, escaping and going on a great adventure. Stupid girl dreaming of pirates and treasure.

Well, she might be caught but she was not defeated. He wanted her as his wife? Let him have her. But he'd find no pleasure with her. She was ready to scratch his eyes out if he even attempted to lay a finger on her.

As if on cue, Beckett walked by, loose hair falling to his shoulders and a book in his hands. He got into bed without letting go of the book, turning a page here and there.

Elizabeth had spent enough time with pirates and heard enough gossip from her servants to understand exactly what a normal wedding night would entail. But Beckett was a fiendish bastard and surely he would not settle for normal, intent on humiliating her in as many unnatural ways as possible.

Well, she might lack a weapon but if he thought he was going to get away with this she'd let him see. She was going to bite those long fingers of his if they fell near her mouth. She'd bite his wicked tongue too, smug man, always making snide little remarks about her.

In those thought Elizabeth started to find some satisfaction.

Suddenly, her heart jumped in her chest as she heard the clap of the book being closed, the movement of his body as he turned to look at her. Elizabeth stared at the canopy. She refused to dignify him with her gaze.

"Good night Lady Beckett," he said.

Nothing more. The minutes dragged on and she shifted, finally looking at him to find Beckett had laid down, his back to her and a vast space separating the newlyweds.

A mute question sprang to her mind but before she had a chance to ask, his voice reached her ears loud and clear.

"Go to sleep Lady Beckett."

She was awake all night long.

- # -


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4: Your slightest look easily will unclose me **

**By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: The characters do not belong to me. I am only using them for fun. And back to young Beckett, still so full of dreams ...  
_

"I am an in love," he announced grandly as soon as he entered the coffee house and found Jack, sitting quietly and alone in the back for once.

"Cutler, loving money does not count as love," Jack replied.

Cutler pulled a chair and sat down.

"I am in love with a woman."  
"Well, good for you. About time I'd say. Who is the lucky wench?"

"Sarah Lennox," he said.

"Sarah Lennox … the owner's daughter? I am incredibly happy for you. As long as you are bedding the lady we'll have free drinks and a merry time. You should have thought of it sooner. In fact …"

"I'm not bedding her. I want to marry her."

Jack gave him a suspicious look.

"I thought you were going to marry a rich heiress. Or was that a rich a hag?"

"Who cares what I said? I say a lot of things."

"That you do. But aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself? Just last month you were …"

"I know Jack. I know it," Cutler said, interrupting his friend again.

"What exactly do you know?"

"It's like I've been dead and I suddenly came to life. It's the most incredible feeling. I wake up thinking about her and I go to sleep with her on my mind. I didn't think it was possible but it is."

"Please don't start turning into a romantic. I wouldn't be able to stomach it."

"Oh, leave me alone," Cutler said and he started humming a merry tune.

"You are a strange bird Mr. Beckett. But you are not the only one with good news today. Mr. Rees had a nice long chat with me. You may be looking at the new captain of the Wicked Wench."

"What? Truly?"

"Aye. And perfect timing if I say so myself. I'm tired of this back and forth between London and Amsterdam. I mean, it's just tulips and more tulips. If I get the Wench, I'd be going to Africa and Asia and transporting real cargo. Making real maps. Unexplored territory, all out there and all waiting for me," Jack said, almost breathless. "Unexplored women too."

"Yes, women. Always women for you Jack."  
"You know, women in China are the most beautiful in the world they say. Or was it Japan? Either way, I'll get to meet them all," Jack said, propping his feet up on the edge of the table. "Maybe I'll even marry a Chinese princess. Wouldn't that be grand."

Cutler nodded politely.  
"Why don't you come with me? Get a Chinese princess of your own."

"I'll have a princess of my own, right here in London," Cutler said with a little smile.

Jack snorted loudly in return."That Lennox girl has poisoned you or something. Some weird witchcraft here. I say run quickly before you find yourself with ten children clinging to your legs and a fat wife hitting you over the head with a spoon."

"Shut up."

"Mark my words. You are going to regret it," Jack said as he threw some coins into a little tin can sitting at the centre of the table. "Now lets see if we can get some service here."

- # -


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5: So lovely was the loneliness**

**By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters do not belong to me.  
_

He did not seem to care about her existence in the very least. He ignored her during the day and at nights when he came to bed, always with a book in hand, he would merely turn around and bid her goodnight.

Three weeks of wedded bliss and they had only engaged in polite, distant conversation and shared a dry kiss on their wedding day.

Of course she didn't want him. But she was curious and curiosity made her wonder what was amiss. Perhaps Jack had been wrong and it was Beckett who was the eunuch. Or maybe he did not like women. Maybe he did not like her in particular.

This last thought made Elizabeth's vanity bristle. It had always been easy to get a man to do her bidding. Just a few little smiles and a flutter of eyelashes was all it took. But Beckett was no idiot. He wouldn't fall for that.

He seemed to have no weaknesses, no kinks in his polished armour and the only thing she could do in her long stretches of boredom and anger, was to spend his money. He had said she could redecorate the house as it pleased her and order as many new dresses as she wanted. Elizabeth was determined to spend a fortune in items he would detest.

But money did not improve her temper. She felt trapped and lonely, and they tediousness of it all was getting to her nerves.

That night Beckett was pacing around, book in hand as usual. It was irritating. Did the man do anything else except read and scheme?

Elizabeth sat up and regarded him angrily.

"Do you plan on sleeping tonight?" she demanded.

He tilted his head up, apparently a little surprised that she had spoken to him.

"Eventually."

"I think it's about time you put that book away."

"Are you that eager to get me to bed?" he asked mockingly. "Such a wanton creature."

"Not as a result from your company."

She noticed the slightest twitch of his lips and she couldn't help but smile in triumph. She had upset him.

"You find something wrong in your marriage, Lady Beckett?" he asked, closing his book with a loud clap and moving towards the bed. "Is something amiss?"

A wise woman would have asked for her husband's forgiveness and let him calm down. She was not wise. Instead, she returned his angry look, like a mirror made of flesh.

"There are many things amiss," she replied. "Including a lack of affection."

"Affection? Are we using euphemisms now? I don't think it's affection that is bothering you. I am truly sorry if our lack conjugal relations upsets you. I am sure in your time at sea you have become used a to a certain type of male attention and find its absence distressing.

"Do not think Lady Beckett that I expect our state of our nocturnal affairs to remain this way eternally. I will have children from you. A male heir to inherit my title is of paramount interest. But I have no interest in keeping other men's eggs in my nest. In short, I do not want to raise Jack Sparrow's child."

"What are you talking about?"

"To be perfectly blunt Lady Beckett if I were to lay with you now and you should conceive I could never be certain of the paternity of the child. I suppose I could feed you some strumpet's potion to flush any child out of your womb but I wouldn't want to harm my property in the process. What if your tender body would be unable to mature a child after such treatment? So I mean to patiently wait for a decent period of time and ensure Sparrow's seed is not growing in there."

The effrontery of the man. He was practically calling her a whore. Of course Elizabeth knew everyone must have assumed the worst upon her return. A lady alone at sea in the company of dozens of sailors. But to be told this so openly; Beckett had no decency.

The worst part was Beckett was wrong. Jack Sparrow had never touched her. There had been no time nor place for it and there had also been Will. Will who had such high moral standards; who had not wanted to compromise her.

She was unjustly accused and that stung the most. She should have sneaked into Will's bed when she'd had the chance. Now Will was dead, Sparrow gone and she was condemned to endure a glacial farce of a marriage.

Elizabeth hated Beckett. She hated this man who saw her as nothing more than a fat cow to breed and a pile of money to spend.

She thought of a number of colourful insults to describe him. She would have yelled them for the whole world to hear but instead found herself crying. She hadn't cried in a very long time and the tears rolled out despite her best efforts.

Elizabeth buried her face in the pillow and did not hear him leave but when she finally looked up, eyes red and puffy, her husband was gone.

- # -


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6: In youth's spring**

**By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: POTC does not belong to me. This is meant for fun only._**  
**

"I have to say I'm surprised."

"About?"

"You. I thought all of Jack Sparrow's friends were libertines and troublemakers."

"I assure you, I am neither," Cutler said very seriously.

Sarah just chuckled and hit him on the arm. "I know that! You are a gentleman Mr.Beckett."

He smiled and sneaked a quick glance at Sarah. She looked lovely that day, with her red hair neatly braided and the freckles dusting her nose and her pretty blue eyes. He thought he was the luckiest man in the world being able to escort such a lovely lady and he paid no attention to the gray sky, the dirt and animal manure lining the streets, or the beggars with their pitiful cries. It was spring for Beckett and the world was full of possibilities.

"Thank you," Cutler said.  
"Well, people are simply what they are. I think you'll always be the sweet kind while Sparrow will always be the audacious type. There's nothing wrong in accepting your true nature."  
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say I am sweet by nature."  
"What are you then?"

"Ambitious," he said. "I'm always trying to better myself."

"That is an admirable trait. So many men are satisfied with their lot and think nothing of the future."

They both looked at the gin seller peddling drinks at the street's corner and the medley of impoverished customers ready to spend their meagre earnings for a sip of the vile drink. Cutler imagined his father drinking gin adulterated with turpentine at that very moment and shook his head.

"I think about the future all the time. It is difficult for a man to find a place in this world, don't you think? I have often wondered about who I am, what I am meant to do and where I am meant to be. I am certain that I don't belong here but I'm not exactly sure where I should be."

Cutler felt rather young and a little anxious saying such things for it was not often that he talked of this, not even with Jack. He preferred to keep certain thoughts to himself afraid what others might think and distrustful of his peers. But it was easy to talk to Sarah, the same way it was easy to sit with Jack and forget about his troubles.

They were both so pleasant and vibrant and in their company Cutler felt himself comforted.

"You're just a dreamer. Nothing wrong in that."

"Oh, I know. It's just … everything seems so terribly distant at times. Like some kind of mirage. I hope I'm not deluding myself. Sometimes I'm terribly afraid I'll do nothing at all and fail miserably at everything just like my father has."  
"Well I for one think you are very nice man and a good friend and I don't think you need to worry about failing at all."

Cutler looked at her again and this time it must have been rather obvious because Sarah turned her head as though suddenly aware of his gaze. She smiled and in that fraction of a smile he was weightless.

- # -


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7: Lilacs out of the dead land  
By Labyrinths**

_Authors: These characters are not mine and are used only for fun.  
_

The symmetrical, delicate floral rose blossoms mocked Elizabeth. She looked at her embroidery, disgusted at the work.

The rain kept falling outside. She'd planned to go riding that day. She'd bought a new horse and a new dress and wanted to try both. That chance was ruined now. She was trapped in the drawing room with Beckett and some embroidery as her only means of recreation.

"Will it ever stop?" she grumbled angrily, tossing the yellow silk away and standing next to the window.

"I have not yet managed to control the weather for you, sweet wife," muttered Beckett with usual sarcasm from behind his book.

"I hate rain. I just hate it."

"I find it quite lovely. It reminds me of my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Yes, my mother. On rainy days when I couldn't go out to play she would read me The Odyssey"

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, honestly shocked that he actually had a mother. Well, of course he had a mother. Everyone did. But to think that Beckett had not sprung a full grown man from a rock was quite frankly surprising. Beckett as a child was unimaginable.

"My mother died when I was very young. But my nurse told me some wonderful stories about the sea. Her husband was a sailor and so she knew the most frightful tales. Much better than The Odyssey."

"It's obvious you would prefer such drabble over classic literature. You have the intellectual formation of a peasant on account of your father's lax instruction."

"Well if I'm so stupid why did you marry me?"

"Because I could," Beckett said. "And because despite your obvious shortcomings you are not hard on the eyes."

Elizabeth smiled wickedly as she sat down and draped her left arm over the back of the chaise longue.

"Was that a compliment?"

"A fact. Stop fishing for compliments; you will not find them here. And get that petulant look off your face."

Elizabeth huffed and crossed her arms. She was about to retrieve her embroidery when he spoke again.

"Can you play chess?"

"Yes."

"Lets see how good you are."

Elizabeth was good but he was better. His game was more subtle than hers. He made an unusual opening then continually threatened her position, keeping her off balance. She was just eyeing his rook suspiciously when Mercer walked in.

"Lord Beckett, I am sorry to interrupt but I need to speak with you," said the man.

"Very well," Beckett said and to Elizabeth. "I'll be back in five minutes."

She waited half an hour. Then, unable to stand it anymore, decided to go find him. She was not used to being abandoned and forgotten so easily.

As she exited the drawing room she heard two servant's talking.

"That Sparrow is insane to have returned to the Caribbean."

"I'd say so. But he's been sighted in Trinidad and those are Spanish waters."

Elizabeth returned to the drawing room immediately and closed the door behind her.

Jack Sparrow was near. A single word reached her lips: freedom.

- # -


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8: The awful daring of a moment's surrender**

**By Labyrinths**

Sir Richard Leits was a difficult, astute, dignified and deeply private man. He reminded Cutler of an ancient pagan stone idol that he had once glimpsed in a book about the Americas. And he secretly terrified the young man.

He had good reasons to be terrified as his grandfather could become a rather nasty individual when angered.

"Well? What do you want?" asked his grandfather as he walked towards Cutler with his two Irish wolfhounds in tow.

Cutler had not seen the old man in five years but this seemed to be of little importance. Deciding there was no reason to stall the game any further Cutler spoke plainly.  
"Sir, I've come here today because I find myself in the need of some money."  
"Are you not employed? Or have you begun to misplace your wages in the same form that lout of your father does?"

"I am gainfully employed, sir. But most of my wages are spent on my mother, who if you recall is married to that lout."

"It is not my fault that your mother lacks half a brain. She understood what she was doing the day she married your father and she must deal with the consequences."

Disowned and dishonored, Cutler was quite sure his mother had spent the last twenty-odd years considering the consequences of her actions. He did not say this, choosing to speak about his current situation instead.

"In any case, I've come to ask for a sum of money that I require. I would pay it back in time, of course. But I need it urgently and can not gather that money so quickly on my own."

"What do you need the money for?"

"I wish to be married."

His grandfather, who had been carelessly petting the head of one of the shaggy wolfdogs now turned around sharply, glancing at Cutler with mistrust.

"Someone I know?"

"A decent girl, sir. I can not approach her father without some assurance that she would be taken care of; that she might have a comfortable house and life with me. I will be honest. I lodge in a cheap room that is suitable for a bachelor but not for a lady. And then there will be the need for some clothing, a servant girl to help with the house chores. For you, it would be a pittance but it would mean the world to me."

"I don't think I'll be giving you the money."

"I already said it is for an honorable purpose."

His grandfather shook his head dismissively.

"If the girl was anyone of importance I think you would speak her name plainly and detail what it is you will gain from the union instead of asking for monetary assistance. No, I suppose you are infatuated with some impoverished strumpet."

"I said she is a decent lady."  
"Decent but poor? Is that it? I've heard this rubbish before. From the lips of your own mother. If you have any common sense you will marry a lady of some stature and procure yourself a profitable marriage."

"I do not wish to marry anyone else."

His grandfather beckoned him with a slight gesture of his hand and Cutler stepped forward until they were side by side. He was not a tall man, his grandfather, but in his vicinity Cutler felt very small.

"God saw fit to give me two girls and no sons. While this saddened me I hoped that my daughters would produce grandchildren fit to carry on my legacy. Yet your aunt died young and left a brood of useless children. I've always considered it ironic that my only grandson with some substance should happen to be the child of a most insubstantial swindler."

"Thank you, sir," Cutler muttered, awed that he might be paid such a compliment.

"Not so fast," his grandfather grumbled. "Yes, it is obvious you are smarter than your cousins and more capable than most. But does it matter if you are willing to throw it away with a single roll of the dice? Ready to marry a girl with nothing to offer but a pretty body? Following the inopportune, fleeting designs of your heart will get you nowhere and you will squander everything."

His grandfather glanced out the window for a moment. When he spoke it was not unkindly but there was a dark sharpness to his voice.

"Marry that girl and you will never be allowed in my presence again. Any inheritance you expected to obtain will be taken from you. Cutler, do trust me on this point, I have considered you in my will and behaved generously."

Such talk came as a surprise to Cutler who had always assumed he'd receive nothing upon the old man's demise.

"And if I do not marry her?"

"I will name you my heir."

- # -

_Author's note: Sir Richard Leits is a baronet (a hereditary title below that of baron). _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9: I met a lady in the meads**

**By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: Don't own these characters. Just for fun._

Elizabeth brushed her hair with methodical strokes. From the corner of her eye she saw Beckett walk into the room and ignored him, focusing instead on her reflection.

"I received the most interesting gift today," he said.

She leaned forward, setting the brush aside and raising her hands towards the clasp of her necklace.

"Oh? Was it that shipment of books from France you were waiting for?"

"No. It's something much more interesting and shorter than a novel. I think I'll read it to you."

Elizabeth fumbled with the clasp.

"Dear Jack."

Her fingers froze. She was perfectly still. Her eyes were focused on her mirror image as her husband approached her from behind.

"You once called yourself my friend and though circumstances have sometimes placed us at odds I am begging you to come to my assistance. You may know by now that I have been blackmailed into a marriage with Lord Beckett. I ask that you come to Port Royale and help me escape. Yours truly, Elizabeth."

She turned around as Beckett crumpled her letter and tossed it to the ground with a smug smile. Mercer must have intercepted the message. Elizabeth didn't know where the hell Beckett had found his so-called assistant, although some of the servants claimed he'd saved Mercer from the gallows, but the man was completely loyal to her husband.

"How deliciously naïve. Did you really think this might work?" he asked.

Elizabeth stared at the ground. She felt like a naughty child and hated him for it. Well, there was nothing left to do now. She couldn't very well deny it.

"Did you think this might work?"

She kept staring at the floor. There was a long silence.

"Undress."

At this she glanced up. Elizabeth might have tried to argue only it was plain to see by the look on his face there would be no space for arguments that night.

"Undress," he repeated.

She did not move, not from an innate desire to fight him but simple fear and shame. However, Beckett must have taken it as an act of defiance because he quickly walked towards her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her towards their bed. When she struggled and attempted to slap him he caught her hand in midair.

"Should we make this difficult? If necessary I will humiliate you."

"No," she muttered, closing her eyes.  
Elizabeth felt his hand snake up to her face, slowly running upon her cheek. A thumb brushed her lips. She swallowed hard and tried to think about another time and place, the Pearl rocking beneath her feet and a man winding his fingers through her hair.

"Open your eyes."

Reluctantly Elizabeth obeyed and tried to avert her face but he quickly held her in place, forcing her to look at him.

"It's me. Not Will Turner or Jack Sparrow. It's me."

She flinched when he swooped down to kiss her. A real kiss and not the insipid moment they had shared their wedding day, so quick she had even wondered if their lips had touched at all.

A real kiss. It was rough and insistent and she wanted to tell him to stop because it wasn't the way it was supposed to be at all. His fingers were digging too deeply into her arms and his eyes were not kind or loving at all but angry and desperate and hungry.

- # -


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10: I sojourn here, alone and palely loitering  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters do not belong to me. This is just intended as fun._

"She asked about you again."

Cutler did not look at Jack, preferring to glance at the depths of his glass instead.

"Who?"

"You know who. Really, Cutler. The girl's in tears. You could speak to her."

He closed his eyes. Just for a second. He allowed himself to picture Sarah for just one second. His lovely girl. Then he pushed the thought aside. The second was over and he snapped his eyes open; snapped out of fantasy and back to cold reality.

"I wrote to her."

"Aye, wrote. You should at least have the courage to look a spurned woman in the face."

"Who are you to be giving a talk about morality?"

"I may chase skirts day and night but I'm always honest. I don't promise sea and sky, then run right out of a woman's bedchamber," Jack said seriously.

Cutler frowned. Of course he felt terrible about the whole thing but he had made a decision. It was a difficult decision but any rational man could see it as the best avenue for him. Sarah would surely find some other young fellow but Cutler had only once chance at fortune.

"I thought you were a better man than that Cutler."

"Listen now, I will not have you judging me Jack Sparrow. I am doing what is best for both of us."

"For both of you or for yourself?"

"We are in different categories, Sarah and I. I am going up in the world Jack. I can't let her drag me down. She's just … she's really a nobody Jack. Things are getting better for me and I won't let her spoil it. New clothes, new horizons, new friends. I'm leaving Cutler behind. I'll be someone new. Better."

"Better? I didn't think there was anything wrong with the old Cutler. Neither did Sarah."

"How would you know? It's time I associated myself with a different kind of crowd. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in some stinky tavern drinking cheap beer with my useless friends."

Jack's lazy smile died on his lips. He leaned forward, both hands firmly planted on the little table that divided them and glared at Cutler.

"Useless?"

"I didn't mean you," he began, but Jack stopped him quickly, interrupting Cutler before he could get any further.

"Yes you did. You damn well did. You think we're just rubbish, don't you? Me and Sarah. You can just use us and discard us when you fancy because you are Cutler Beckett. Oh pardon me, Lord Cutler Beckett. Fancy and mighty you are, no? Damn near royalty, isn't that right? Well I have news for you. You are not lord and you are not royalty. You're just a greasy, lousy pawn like the rest of us."

"Not eternally," he countered.

"Listen Mr. Beckett, one day you may buy yourself a dozen powdered wigs and call yourself lord and have more money than you can possibly spend in a lifetime but that will never make you a great man. You're a mule trying to pass off as a fine stallion."

"What does that make you then? I may be a mule but at least I'm not some lowlife's dirty bastard."

Jack grabbed his drink and pushed his chair back.

"If my family tree bothers you so much then you needn't associate yourself with me, sir."

Cutler knew he should probably start saying he was sorry. A part of him really wanted to get up and bid Jack to stay. A part of him felt this was a crucial moment and if he let it pass their friendship would all come crashing down. They'd fought before, came to blows like most young men on a single occasion, yet there was the unspoken rule that no matter what transpired they'd be able to laugh it up the next day. Not that night. They wouldn't laugh after this.

So while one part of Cutler was remorseful another part was angry and dark and it was this part, the proud Cutler Beckett giving his old comrade a disdainful look, which won.

"I won't," he muttered. "You can go to hell for all I care. You can all go to hell."

- # -


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11: Don't scrutinize the registry of time**

**By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters do not belong to me. This story is only intended for fun. _

"Lady Beckett, I don't think you understand. A costume like that would be entirely too … well, it would be rather masculine."

Elizabeth was holding up Beckett's navy waistcoat with the gold-coloured silk buttons and the large cuffs. She knew it would be masculine. That was the whole point. It would be amusing. All the other ladies would be wearing soft silks and light floral patterns while Elizabeth would be a stylized version of a man.

Even funnier, she would be a female version of Beckett. He'd probably resent it but so what?

"It's my party so I can dress any way I want," Elizabeth said simply.

"It would be very bold," replied the seamstress.

Elizabeth lowered her voice, the same way she had noticed her husband lowered his voice when he was displeased.

"I do not think it is your place to tell me what is and what isn't bold. When I require your opinion I will ask for it. In the meantime I expect you to obey my wishes and produce an adequate costume."  
"Of course Lady Beckett."

"Go now."

The seamstress nodded quickly and made a hasty exit. Elizabeth glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed. Everyone took her husband seriously, never daring to question his wishes only because he was a man.

Men were allowed to die a heroic death at sea like Will or dabble in adventure like Jack but women were only meant to birth children and follow the great patriarchal scheme.

Children. What would they be like? What would she be like as a mother?

Elizabeth gave a panicked look at her reflection, suddenly picturing herself huge and round with child. Lugging her heavy frame around, sweating like a pig during the warm Caribbean nights, screaming in agony during the birth.

She hated him for that.

Although if she must admit it things weren't always terrible. It took her some time to get used to Beckett's silences and his jabs but she had to chuckle at some of his remarks. He spoke his mind honestly, sometimes viciously; but surrounded by the dull, hypocritical bourgeoisie of Port Royal his sharp comments were entertaining. He allowed Elizabeth unbridled financial freedom and he was not afraid to let her speak her mind.

Even if childish romantic notions of love were nice Elizabeth had always been much more interested in the erotic subtext beneath the tales of courtly love than the florid promises of affection. Intimately he was not unpleasant and she had discovered that if he could use her, she could also use him.

"Take what you want and forget about the rest," she said out loud as she tried on her husband's waistcoat.

The garment was far too big but she was merely trying to create an approximate effect. She pushed her chin up, admiring herself in the mirror with a critical eye. Her hair was wrong. She had a sudden thought that perhaps if she pulled it back, tied it with a ribbon and donned a hat it might look better.

Beckett was very particular about his possessions and kept his clothes locked away. But she'd learnt enough about him by now to know where he kept the key and easily flung open the doors of the great wooden armoire.

Elizabeth went through an assortment of tricorns in various colours. She reached for a modest brown hat and in doing so heard a little thump as she knocked something to the ground.

Elizabeth bent down. The contents of a small box were strewn over the rug. She tossed a stack of letters back into the box and paused when her fingers fell over a delicate watercolour miniature. A pretty, red-haired young woman framed in gold smiled back at Elizabeth.

"What are you doing?"

Elizabeth turned at the sound of her husband's voice.

"Give me that," he demanded.

For a second she did not understand what he was talking about and then Elizabeth remembered she was still holding the miniature in her hand. He snatched it from her, his fingers rude and quick.

"How dare you go through my things," Beckett said taking a step forward so that Elizabeth was forced to take a step back in turn.

"Who is that?" asked Elizabeth, pointing at the telltale miniature. The mystery woman.

She didn't really cared who it was. This was a question of power. She was not going to cower and be quiet.

"Get out. Get out now," he said grabbing her by the arm and shoving her towards the door.

Elizabeth struggled, refusing to budge.  
"I will not. I demand to know who that woman is."

"You do not deserve an explanation."

"Do you take me for some idiot? I will not have some strumpet's picture sitting in my house!"

He let go of her and for the first time in all the months they'd been married she heard her husband raise his voice.

"She is dead!" he yelled.

Beckett darted away from her and left, slamming the door behind him.

- # -


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12: Just see what happened to that daring youth  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: Characters are not mine. This story is only for fun. _

It sounded like a cliché but he couldn't stop thinking about her. As the weeks dragged by he expected to forget about Sarah. But she clung resiliently to his mind. He woke up dreaming about her and went to sleep wishing her memory would vanish.

Cutler did his best to keep himself busy. He did his best to keep himself away. Yet one day, one innocuous Saturday afternoon, he found himself retracing familiar steps, walking to her house.

Cutler had not planned this visit and when he was suddenly face to face with the young woman he realized he had no idea what he meant to say to her.

She observed him curiously, then stepped aside to let him in. She went through all the motions of common courtesy offering him a seat, asking if he wanted something to drink, commenting on the weather, all with a slight detachment

"You look well Cutler," she said as she handed him a cup of tea.

"Thank you."  
"I heard about your promotion. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

He sipped his tea and looked around the tiny parlour, finally settling his gaze on her. Sarah brushed back a loose strand of her hair and smiled. She was beautiful. She was lovely. He had missed her. God, he had missed her.

"I came to apologize," he said eventually finding his voice. "I don't normally apologize so I'm not sure how this might sound. I really regret hurting you. I wanted to explain. It's … complicated. I stand to inherit a great deal of money and my grandfather didn't want me marrying. I couldn't anger him by going through with the wedding. I've had time to consider this now and I feel quite silly really for … well … my behaviour. It was selfish. But I want you back."

Sarah raised her hand, as though she might say something, so he pressed on, speaking more quickly now. He was afraid. He was deadly afraid she might throw him out any minute.

"I do love you, I do. I'm so sorry and I should have told you this more often and I shouldn't have just left like that. But I have a solution. I can't marry you now, but if you will wait for me Sarah … my grandfather is old. He can't live forever and if you wait for me in a few years we can be married and I'll have a great deal of money and we can have a great house with servants and I swear I will treat you like a queen."

Sarah was now clasping her hands together, looking at them with an intensity that frightened him.

"Cutler, I thought you knew," she said.

"Knew what?"

"I'm getting married. I thought Jack would have told you."

"Married? To whom?"

"Well … to Jack. I thought he … he said he was sending you a note. You are invited to the wedding of course."

"Call it off," Cutler muttered immediately.

"I can't call it off."

"No, you have to call it off. Have you gone mad? The man is a womanizer of the worst sort."

"I know who he is."

"Well then you've surely gone mad. You have to call it off. Sarah, just wait for me. Don't rush into a silly marriage. If your father has put you up to this I assure you we can work something out. Does your family need money? Sarah, if it's about money I'll get the money. Don't marry him," he said suddenly breaching the space between them and clutching her hands between his.

Sarah stared at him, then pulled her hands away.

"I have to get married. I'm pregnant."

Hearing this he couldn't help but stare back at her. Sarah jumped up to her feet and began pacing nervously across the room, trying to avoid his scorching gaze.

"It was six months Cutler. I thought you were gone forever … he is a nice man, he really is. And he cares for me. He's captain now. He'll be shipping ivory and all sorts of things from Africa and … and we are getting married in two weeks. He is happy. He is very happy and I don't want you to be mad at him because it wasn't his fault. It really wasn't."

Cutler leaned forward, stumbling to his feet. He felt vaguely sick. The parlour seemed hotter, more confining. He thought he needed to get some fresh air. Take a walk. A long walk.

"It was six months," Sarah said. "Cutler…"

"I really should be going," he muttered.

Cutler didn't walk home. He ran. He ran until he was out of breath and his body ached. By then it was raining and he didn't care much that he was getting his fine coat, his new fine coat that his grandfather had just given him, speckled with dirt and mud and rain.

He was grateful for the rain.

- # -


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 13: Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters do not belong to me. This story is just for fun._

Elizabeth had often wondered what could make Beckett angry and she had probed and tested his boundaries trying to find a weakness. She'd finally discovered his Achilles' heel and though it should have brought her much joy instead there was only an unpleasant bitterness.

She felt wicked.

It was very late and he had not gone by their room. Steeling herself she slipped down the stairs to his study. When Elizabeth walked in he did not look up at her, immersed in his papers, but she was sure he'd heard her approaching.

"I'm very sorry," she said softly.

"For sneaking around my things or for getting caught?"

"Getting caught," she answered honestly. "But I was not sneaking. I want a costume for the masque ball. I want to go dressed as a man. I was merely trying to see how I would look."

"Then your innocence is established and your crime can be forgotten," he said but his eyes were still on his papers. He had not looked up for a single moment.

"I said I was sorry."  
"That you did."

Elizabeth stood still and waited. She was not sure for what but she remained in place while he quickly scribbled. It seemed there would be no answer. No matter. She was not used to keeping things to herself. She would speak her mind whether he liked it or not.

"I will not ask anything else about the woman in the picture. But you guard too many secrets."

"I don't think that just by virtue of our marriage you have earned my trust."  
"Look at me."

"I am very busy. Perhaps we can leave the theatrics for another night."

Elizabeth moved towards his desk quickly, slamming her hands on top of his precious documents.  
"You are obstructing my work."

"I know."

Beckett looked up her now, his eyes very cold and calm as usual.

"You try my patience with your childish tantrums," he said.  
"Childish?"   
"Infinitely childish."

"I suppose it must seem incredibly childish, yes. But I don't care. I want you to speak to me. I want some real conversations and maybe a little less of your twisted sarcasm and some freedom."

"Your definition of real conversations eludes me. As for my sarcasm it is best you ignore it. Finally, I think you have free rein to do as you please."

"Free rein? I can not walk two paces without Mercer informing you of everything I do. Every time I go out Mercer or some of your other assistants is following me around like a damn shadow. Every book I read, every letter I get is scrutinized," she said. "We sit together during supper like it's some funeral procession. I do not know you at all. By God, I don't even know your age. I sleep next to a complete stranger and though I am not asking for love, I would at least appreciate some answers. Talk to me."

He said nothing else but when he put aside his quill and rose from behind his desk he had the same cold expression as before. However, beneath the veneer of indifference Elizabeth could have sworn there was a dim curiosity.

"Are you quite done with your rant? Or should I wait until you begin to cry for the grand finale?"

Truth be told Elizabeth's eyes had been growing dangerously moist. However, as soon as he taunted her she blinked back the tears, clenching her fist and hitting him on the chest. Hard. Not like a young lady might but like Will had taught her. A blow meant for a bar brawl.

Beckett quickly grabbed hold of her, spinning her around so that her back was against his chest and his arms were tight around her. She tried stomping on his foot and he gave a painful twist to her wrist.

"Don't," he warned her.

"Don't?! I don't care anymore! Fine, kill me. That's what you want isn't it? Well, kill me. I don't know why the hell you hate me but just kill me!"

Suddenly he spun her around, their faces only inches apart.

"I don't hate you."

Their eyes met as bright as swords clashing. She looked away feeling suddenly old and spent.

"It's always fun Lady Beckett but I really should get back to work," he said.

She waited for something. Maybe for him to say something else. He did not. Silences and secrets where always hanging in the space between and she was incredibly tired of it all.

- # -


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14: In twilight land, in no man's land  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters do not belong to me. This story is just for fun._

Jack Sparrow was telling what seemed to be a very funny joke. Four men sat with him laughing uproariously. But their laughter was stifled when they noticed Cutler Beckett standing by their table, his eyes squarely fixed on Jack.

"Hello Jack."

"Hello. It's been a while Cutler."

"It has. I've come to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials."

"Thank you. Do you want to join us for a drink?"

"No, I don't think so. I mean this to be a brief visit. I won't take up too much of your time. I merely want to kill you. Stand up, draw your sword."

The men muttered among themselves. Other patrons at a nearby table looked at them curiously, ready for the usual spectacle of a tavern brawl. Jack for his part seemed a bit uncomfortable but did not budge from his seat.

"Go home Cutler. Sober up," Jack said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

"I am doing fine. Get up you slimy, traitorous, lascivious weasel."

"You forgot good looking."

"I don't have time for your games. I mean to fight you tonight."

"That's the gin doing the talking. Cutler, I'm not going to do this. Sarah would be livid if …"

"Yes Sarah. My Sarah. Whom you have so graciously stolen."

"She didn't have 'Cutler Beckett's property' engraved on her. I didn't take anything that didn't want to be taken."

"You wormed your way into her life. You cheating, deceiving …"

"Aye, aye. But I wasn't the one who abandoned the lass. I'm not the coward who vanished into thin air. I'm here sir, intending to be the proper gentleman and marry Sarah and give her a decent life. So if you will so kindly bugger off it'd be much appreciated."

"Get your sorry self up."

Jack merely propped his feet on the edge of the table and cocked an eyebrow at him while smugly raising his tankard of ale.

Cutler swiftly grabbed his pistol and took aim. The men that had been sitting next to Jack scrambled away like scared dogs. Cutler heard someone screaming although he could not discern the exact words.

"Last chance. Draw your damn sword or I'll simply shoot you right now."

"Suit yourself."

Jack slammed his drink down and unsheathed his sword. Cutler had never been adept at fencing but when he rushed forward, kicking the table aside, his anguish seemed to compensate for his lack of talent. Jack seemed surprised, taking a few steps back before regaining his ground.

Jack parried gracefully and circled Cutler slowly, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Stubbornly, Cutler parried and fought back, mind ablaze. Under normal circumstances Jack might have earned a quick win. He was a tricky swordsman and graceful to boot. But rage empowered Cutler. Rage strengthened his arm, emboldened him as to make him rather dangerous. Rage was all he had.

"For God's sake stop this nonsense," Jack muttered, his face grim with worry. "What the hell do you expect to get out of this? She will not have you if you kill me and she'll cry her eyes out if I kill you."

Cutler did not reply, he pressed on and Jack barely dodged a thrust to the head. Jack seemed fairly shocked at this, cursing softly and trying to maintain his distance.

But Cutler would have none of that. He aimed for the throat, recklessly throwing himself forward. Suddenly he went down as Jack kicked him away, knocking Cutler off balance.

"Cutler, stop!"

There was no stopping. He could not stop. Cutler jumped to his feet and lunged towards Jack and there was that delicious moment where he thought he was actually going to win before he felt the cold force of the blade against his flesh. Cutler's sword slipped from his fingers, rattling as it hit the ground.

Fear and disbelief flooded Cutler as he sank to his knees. Gasping, he pressed a hand against his rib cage. He could feel his own blood warm and sticky as it stained his fingers.

The pain was so sharp he could not speak, only nod as someone lay him down on the floor. He stared at the ceiling in wonder.

"Press this. Keep it pressed against your side," he heard Jack say.

But he let go of the bundle of cloth Jack was trying to shove into his hand. Instead, Cutler clutched at his neck, desperately grabbing onto the little locket that was nestled underneath his shirt. The little locket she'd given him.

"Call a doctor," someone said.

Cutler did not want any damn doctors. He wanted to be alone. Forever alone and in the welcoming darkness that cradled him.

- # -


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15: On that disused and forgotten road  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These character are not mine. This story is just for fun. _

"What?"

"It's positively indecent," he said.

There was no accusation in that statement. Merely the cold, hard facts.

"I like it," she said, holding the costume up triumphantly.

It was a gentleman's black justaucorps with matching breeches. Fine vines were embroidered in gold upon the green silk. Her waistcoat was a pale cream colour with the pattern of vines repeated in green. The costume was cut to accent her waist and was meant to be very tight-fitting so that upon looking at it her female figure would not be entirely concealed as it might with a regular male outfit. Instead, the overall impressions would be a rather vexing combination of the masculine and feminine.

"It'll cause a scandal among the God-fearing people of Port Royal," Beckett said.

"If it bothers you I'll toss it away," she said with mock sweetness.

"If it bothered me then more the reason to wear it, no? I don't care. I've earned the right to let my wife make a flagrant spectacle of herself if it pleases me."

"Well, as long as it pleases you."

Elizabeth let the costume fall unceremoniously to the ground and went towards the bed. She grabbed her book and turned it to the page where she had left it the previous night. It was a difficult, slow read. Her French was poor but since Beckett had made fun of this she was determined to become fluent in it. That way at least she could insult him in another language.

"I have been thinking about your request," her husband said.

"What request?"

"You asked me to tell you about myself."

Elizabeth cautiously closed her book and turned towards him. She thought she'd heard wrong.

"The girl in the painting is someone I knew many years ago. We were very close but we had a fallout and did not speak to each other after that. I heard she died in childbirth. I can scarcely remember her now and can only recall those days with mild amusement."

"Why do you keep her picture locked away then?"

"We all have our ghosts. This happens to be mine."

Sometimes when she was alone Elizabeth would think about William Turner and she would cry. She supposed she too had a ghost perched over her shoulder, following her every movement.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"It seems I have grown used to you. Thus I have developed a certain amount of empathy for your situation. Besides, I want some peace and quiet and not this incessant bickering and sulking."

"If you wanted smiles and sunshine you should have married someone else."

"I married you. Whether it was a misguided effort or not we are locked in holly matrimony and I intend to make the best of the situation," he said with his usual sarcasm. "Besides, I'm tired."  
"I was not the one who asked for your hand in marriage," she said, interrupting him. "If you find that you can't stomach me anymore I think it's rather fitting."

"Elizabeth, I'm tired. I'm just tired. Perhaps one day you may understand what it means to be this tired."

She stared at him. It was the first time he'd ever called her by her name. It was always 'Lady Beckett' or when he wanted to be particularly grating 'my darling'. The use of her first name felt jarringly intimate.

"Very well," she said slowly, still trying to understand what was happening. "I guess a truce might be a welcome relief. But you have to be nicer."

"Maybe you want me to write little love notes to you every morning?" he said with disgust. "This is not some belated courtship. I am merely laying down the terms for an agreement."

"And I'm negotiating," she spat back. "That means I don't want Mercer spying on me every day and I want you to not be so bloody unbearable and … and stop looking at me like that. "

He had propped his chin up with a hand and was looking at her rather smugly.

"Agreed?"

"I'll tell Mercer to stop hounding you. As for the rest I could say I will be the very epitome of kindness," he said lacing his hands behind his head as he stared at the canopy instead. "But that would make me a liar."

"Well, as long as you talk to me sometimes. A civilized conversation."

"Am I ever nothing but civilized?"

Elizabeth had a passionate desire to smother him with the pillow. Instead she just tossed it at him. Beckett caught it and put it behind his head.

"You know what I mean."

"I suppose I do. What would you like to talk about then?"

"I don't know," she said, frowning.

"Then this will be a very brief conversation."

She wondered about the red-haired woman in the miniature. What she'd been like, if he'd loved her. Surely he must have loved her. Elizabeth's curiosity demanded a thorough explanation of this and other subjects. Then again she supposed there were some things that were best not to ask and she did not want to spoil their armistice.

"When is your birthday?" she said instead.

"The sixteenth of November."

- # -


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16: I dwell with a strangely aching heart  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters are not mine. This story is just for fun. _

"There will hardly be a scar," his mother said as she smoothed his hair.

Cutler tried to brush her hand away. She watched him with those sad eyes of hers and all he could do was turn his head, towards the window.

"Hardly is not the word I was thinking about," he muttered.

"All that matters is that you are alive. All that matters is that you will get better. What were you thinking picking a fight like that?"  
"I don't know. Who cares?"  
"I care. I care very much."

He crossed his arms, shrugging and staring at the window with a petulant smirk.

"That girl came to see you. But you were still sleeping."

"Sarah?"

"Yes."

For a moment he felt his breath catch in his throat. He let it go as quickly as he could, his eyes falling onto the worn blankets and stubbornly focusing on the pinwheel pattern that served as a decoration.

"If she comes again send her off. I don't want to see her."

"Are you sure? She seemed eager to speak to you."

"I'm sure."

"You couldn't get enough of her not so long ago."

"That was before."

"You never did tell me what happened that made you stop courting the girl. You were so excited about her. I event thought you might…"

"I don't want to talk about her. She's dirt. She's nothing. Grandfather was right. Just some cheap whore and her cheap lover. Well to hell with Jack Sparrow and Sarah Lennox. May they be very happy together. They deserve each other. Both dirt and both scum and both nothing."

His mother seemed quite shocked and this tirade, shrinking back and observing Cutler carefully. She looked at him quietly and then those graceful, pale fingers of hers touched his hand.

"Cutler, what did your grandfather tell you?"  
"The truth. That you can get half a dozen Sarahs for a handful of coins. And I was right to listen to him. I was very right."

"Oh Cutler, what did you do?"

He pulled his hand free from hers feeling incredibly offended at her nasty little comment.

"What did I do? I got stabbed mother. I did. This is not … this is their fault. This is his fault. He may be laughing now but we'll see how long the laughing lasts. I'll get Jack Sparrow one day. I'll hurt him as much as he hurt me."

Cutler's mother grabbed his face, pulling his chin up roughly so that their eyes were locked on each other. The same eyes. It was the only thing he had inherited from his mother.

"Listen to me Cutler. If you choose this path you'll regret it. Maybe not now but you will regret it. Revenge is a cold mistress and you'll find yours is a lonely bed. Stop this. Be kind and forgive and go to your confessor as soon as you are healed."

"I don't need your advice. You think I'm some child?"

He jerked away from his mother and the sudden movement caused him to wince in pain and press his palm against his side, against the bandages and the wounded flesh.

"No. You are a man. A grown man and a fool."

She was looking at him with that soft sadness of hers again. He closed his eyes willing her away.

- # -


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17: This heart is not a summer field  
By Labyrinths**

_Author's note: These characters are not mine. This story is just for fun.  
_

Elizabeth Swann laughed feeling happy and daring and beautiful in her costume, eyes sparkling behind the little green mask. She spied Cutler Beckett standing a few feet from her. He was supposed to be Prospero and looked rather impressive in his deep scarlet outfit as he nodded and dangled a glass of wine from his right hand.

And such was Elizabeth's happiness at the triumph of this party, the first party she'd ever thrown, that when he glanced in her direction she smiled at him broadly.

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. She was about to go over towards her husband and tell him to stop looking so serious, it was supposed to be a party, when she spied a guest with a mask that resembled a bird, black hair pulled back.

The smile froze on her lips. The smile did not die away completely but her lips quivered and the mirth was replaced with a sudden trepidation.

Excusing herself from the conversation she had been holding with two flirtatious gentlemen Elizabeth quietly navigated the room.

He seemed to be headed outside, towards the garden. She pushed her way through the crowd until she finally stumbled onto the steps that led down do to the garden. She stopped by the fountain with the stone child. But although she could have sworn he had gone that way she was alone.

Elizabeth stood in the darkened garden and listened intently. Insects, the murmur of the party and her own breathing were the only things she heard. Then, a soft crack, like a twig breaking under someone's foot.

She turned and found Cutler Beckett there, his red mask in his hands.

"You needed some fresh air?"

"You, you, you, horrible you," she said, stomping towards him.

"I what?"

"Jack Sparrow is here. You've lured him here haven't you? Oh, I should have known this was only some fancy bait to catch his eyes."

"He is? Really? How rude."

"Don't mock me. You must have known. It couldn't have escaped you with Mercer sniffing around like a bloodhound. Well you can go to hell. You … you are a very sick man."

Silence befell them. They stared at each other for a few moments and then she managed to gather her wits.

"Is this a test maybe? Yes, you're testing me aren't you? To see if I'll try to run off and then you'll capture me and it's just some sick joke of yours. Am I right? What else could it be?" she asked

"Nothing."

"Don't lie! You are trying to trick me, you are playing me…"

"Yes, the whole world revolves around you Miss Swann," he said as he toyed with his mask and smiled, just a faint little smile. "I must be testing you, of course."

"Surely that is the reason. You let me escape and then you capture me again. I won't let you."

"If I wanted it then there isn't much you could do about that, could you?

"I won't let you. I'm not letting you arrest him. I'll kill you if you try to arrest him."

He lifted his head. Beckett had looked rather handsome in his costume. But when she spoke something changed, his expression darkened and turned ugly.

"Elizabeth if you desire your freedom you can leave this instant. I will not follow," he said.

"Stop it with your games! I am sick and tired of you! "

His eyes were sharp and cold. He took a step back and tossing his mask away, as though it were some piece of garbage, started walking towards the house.

"What makes you think it is a game?" he said without turning to look at her.

She stood alone in the garden and her first impulse was to flee. Although she had pictured this so many times, yearning for a chance to escape, she was suddenly standing still, turned to stone.

Of course she wanted to be free of him. She hated the man. Surely ships, plunder and Jack Sparrow were better than being Lady Beckett.

And she liked Jack. She desired Jack. Not like she'd wanted Will because she'd wanted Will half her life and he was easy to want, so easy to love. But she still wanted Jack.

It was rather silly. The choice was no choice at all. Except maybe for the first time she was understanding what he had said about growing used to someone and now she felt like some horrible traitor.

But she was good at betraying, wasn't she? She betrayed everyone in her path and then it was easy and it wasn't easy.

Because freedom was Jack, the pirates and adventures she'd longed for all her childhood and the seductive lover she'd always wanted to meet. But there were other kinds of freedom she had discovered, other kinds of pleasure, and if Will had talked the language of romance and Jack talked the language of passion Beckett talked the language of intellect.

He sat in front of her and looked at her and asked her what she thought of a book, a person, a political manoeuvre. He liked to know. He appreciated a sharp intellect. He was challenging. He was witty. He was incredibly annoying when he felt like it and then at times he was wildly generous. He was harsh and distant and other times he'd drop a book upon her lap and tell her it as very good, she should read it. It was written by Jonathan Swift and she might find it amusing.

So of course, of course she was ready to run off with Jack Sparrow. A dirty, cheating, irresponsible, womanizing outlaw who was oh so dashing.

Elizabeth was ready and she was also horrified to discover it had all gone to hell. Because Beckett had muddle the game; he'd ruined it and she'd ruined it and now that it was her chance for checkmate she was teetering.

Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to go live in the farthest, loneliest desert where she would never, ever have to think about such things. Where she would know who she was and not have to wonder about who she'd become.

Elizabeth was so angry at herself, at Jack Sparrow and Cutler Beckett and the whole wide world that she simply tore her mask off and stomped on it with childish glee. When she was done she stared at the darkness enveloping the garden. She looked at it rather thoughtfully, rather irritated and raising an elegant eyebrow turned around and walked back towards the party.

- # -


	19. Chapter 19

**Epilogue: Ithaca  
By Labyrinths **

_Author's Note: This is the end. I hope you've enjoyed Desert. I've liked reading your comments and always appreciate the feedback. Many thanks. _

"For you."

He looked up, tearing his eyes from the miniature to smile at her.

"You shouldn't, really. Sarah, it must have cost …"

"Oh, who cares," she said. "I want you to have it. As long as you have it I'll be with you."

He hugged her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. Somehow he knew it was imperative that he hold on to her. He did. He held on very tight, squeezing his eyes shut until he felt something tugging at him, like cold water suddenly lapping at his feet. It came suddenly, memory.

She was dead.

He was dreaming.

Cutler Beckett woke up. It was still night outside. He sat at the edge of the bed for several minutes. Eventually he went towards his armoire and had some trouble finding his clothes and dressing in the darkness. Cutler was buttoning his coat when he heard Elizabeth shift and mutter something.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Early. I'm going for a walk."

Outside the world was still and quiet. He did not encounter anyone as he made his way to the beach. Some gulls were his only companions. Cutler put his hands in his pockets and listened to the ocean.

The sky was turning orange with the coming of dawn by the time he took out the little miniature. It felt strangely heavy for such a minuscule item.

He wondered if his wife kept some trinket to remind her of William Turner, the man who had stabbed Davy Jones' heart and gambled his life away. Or perhaps she had something of Jack Sparrow for Cutler had known, almost from the moment he'd first seen her at Port Royal, that she cared for Sparrow.

Either way he wouldn't ask her about this for there are certain people one must keep hidden beneath the skin, tucked away in secret places.

Cutler Beckett looked at the sea until finally, after what seemed an eternity, he waded into the water and tossed the miniature away.

When he returned home and to his bedroom Elizabeth was already awake sitting in the middle of the bed. She rushed towards him immediately, looking rather pleased with herself.

"Here, feel," she said grabbing his hand and pressing it against her stomach.

"Feel what?"

"It kicked me."

Cutler frowned and maintained his hand flush against her belly but nothing happened.

"It felt like I had swallowed a butterfly," she said excitedly.

"I don't feel a thing."

"You think I'm making it up?"

"Maybe you have indigestion."

"Indigestion?!"

A gentle tap against his hand made them both pause. He looked up at her. Elizabeth was smiling triumphantly

"I guess you were right," he conceded.

"Of course I was right."

He smiled a half-smile at her and moved towards his armoire. He would need a clean set of clothes for his current outfit was haphazard in its arrangement, wet and dirtied with sand.

"You were gone for a while there," she said.

"It was a long walk," he said. "Very long."

Elizabeth gave him a curious look and he looked back. Cutler was sure she wanted to ask something but she seemed to shrug it off, moving towards the great double windows. Elizabeth tugged at the curtains. Sunlight streamed in.

- END -


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